


a double bed, and a stalwart lover for sure

by visiblemarket



Category: Constantine (TV)
Genre: Emotions, M/M, PWP, but who even knows, handjobs, i legit can't tell if this is actually cute and fluffy anymore, originally that was the goal, the usual
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-24
Updated: 2019-02-24
Packaged: 2019-11-05 03:08:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17910851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/visiblemarket/pseuds/visiblemarket
Summary: He chuckles and reaches for John’s hand. Their fingers lace together for a moment — unintentional, on Chas’s side at least — as he guides John’s hand down and between his legs. He’s not hard yet. John’ll get him there soon enough. It’ll be fine.“You’re gonna have to do most of the work,” he warns.“Oh, there’s a change,” John teases, already unbuttoning Chas’s jeans and slipping his hand into Chas’s boxers.





	a double bed, and a stalwart lover for sure

**Author's Note:**

> happy valentimes ~~ten days late and 3k words long, oops~~

There’s a light on in the living room when he gets home.

John’d probably forgotten to turn it off; wouldn’t be the first time, won’t be the last. At least it means he doesn’t have to stumble his way through the dark to get to his room.

He turns it off as he passes, thoughtless and automatic, before heading down the hall. Distracted, not thinking, ready to flop down on his mattress, fully clothed, and fall straight to sleep.

His memory flickers — a nightly _routine_ , pajamas and brushed teeth and plans for the morning — but that’s not his life anymore. Hasn’t been, not for — years, now, which is something to think about, when he has the time or, more importantly, the energy. But his life, now, is coming home exhausted, to an empty bed in a quiet room, still air around him and cold stone floor beneath his feet.

He has, frankly, come home to worse.

The light’s on in his room, too — he can see it beneath the door. He hopes, vaguely, that he hadn’t left it on himself, but doesn’t think much beyond that, as he makes his way down the hall.

He opens the door to his room. Blinks, stops short, and groans in exasperation.

John buries his face into the pillow — Chas’s pillow — and mutters something, sharp and obviously annoyed, as he burrows further beneath Chas’s sheets.

Chas shakes his head. Steps out of his shoes. Approaches his bed, infinitely more tired than he had been, and sighs.

Pulls up the sheet, and pushes him over onto his side, just enough to slide in next to him. Lies down, on his back, looking up at the ceiling.

John sags against his side, back pressed to Chas’s arm; Chas elbows him, weary and vindictive, sharper than he should, but John’s very presence is making his skin itch. Not quite anger, maybe, but genuine annoyance, at John being in his space without asking, at himself for letting it get to him, like this isn’t just how John lives his life, unapologetically insidious when you don’t want him and immediately absent once you do.

John, oblivious to Chas’s exasperation and undeterred by the unsubtle elbow Chas just dug into the small of his back, huffs and rolls over. Drops his arm across Chas’s chest and rests his head on Chas’s shoulder.

Chas takes a breath. Wants to roll his eyes — does roll his eyes — but he catches the scent of John’s hair, and his heart quickens. He finds himself running a hand up John’s back, feeling the warmth of his skin through the t-shirt he’s wearing.

The raw, anxious feeling from before ebbs, and Chas feels himself relax: the tightness in his shoulders easing, the beat of his heart steadying.

John sighs. Nuzzles his nose against Chas’s neck. Murmurs, soft and careful: “Back early, yeah?”

“Not really,” Chas answers, because he isn’t — he’d told John when he’d be back, texted him from the road to confirm — and closes his eyes. “What are you doing in here, John?”

John stiffles a yawn against his shoulder. “Couldn’t sleep.”

“You do this a lot when I’m not here?"

John hums to himself for a moment. “You mind?”

It’s not an answer but it is, and Chas has to laugh. “Nah,” he says, which is, to his surprise, true — the furtive sentimentality and begrudging tenderness, Chas can handle. Finds it kind of flattering, actually: John so rarely lets himself feel anything, enjoy anything, involve himself with anything that requires any sort of vulnerability. That he’ll give even this much of himself to Chas, if only once in a while, or when Chas isn’t there to see it, is as genuine a show of affection as John is really capable of.

Chas doesn’t mind. Chas gets it, mostly. But he can’t let himself get carried away by it, either, and so he has to ask: “You don't bring anyone else back here, right?"

John tenses. “What?"

“I mean…” Chas starts, compelled to clarify, but realizes its better not to know, better to leave it for now. He shrugs. “Never mind."

“Christ,” says John, sitting up. “Wouldn’t do that." After a moment, he sighs. “Not without your permission."

Chas looks over at him. “You don’t have my permission,” he feels like he should point out, in case it’ll come down to that.

“Then I wouldn’t do that to you, would I?"

Chas knows better than to believe him — he’s known John too long, known him through all the doomed relationships and their inevitable fall out. He knows what John’s capable of. He knows what John’s done.

“Okay,” he says, reaching over to pat John’s knee. “I believe you,” he says, and shuts his eyes again. Hopes that’ll be the end of it — John’ll keep poking and prodding at him otherwise, out of boredom or curiosity or both.

Hopes that John’ll turn off the light — it’s on his side of the bed, and too far for Chas to reach — but almost doesn’t need him to. Could fall asleep just like this.

John stays upright.

“Chas?"

“Yeah?"

“You all right?"

“Tired,” he says, because he is. Long drive. Bad weather. Not coming home to an empty bed for once. Figuring out what that might mean. He’s exhausted, physically, emotionally, mentally. John isn’t making it any easier, but then again, when has he ever.

“Too tired to…” John trails off and Chas looks up at him again. John raises his eyebrows — half-joking, half-suggestive.

 _Oh_. So, not that big a mystery, in the end. 

_Why is John Constantine in his bed tonight?_

_The same reason John Constantine is in his bed any other night._

He chuckles and reaches for John’s hand. Their fingers lace together for a moment — unintentional, on Chas’s side at least — as he guides John’s hand down and between his legs. He’s not hard yet. John’ll get him there soon enough. It’ll be fine.

“You’re gonna have to do most of the work,” he warns.

“Oh, there’s a change,” John teases, already unbuttoning Chas’s jeans and slipping his hand into Chas’s boxers. Chas inhales, sharp, feels his cock twitch and press up into John’s palm.

John grins. “At least _someone’s_ happy t’ see me."

“Didn’t say I wasn’t happy to see you,” Chas says, low and already breathless. Finds himself sliding his palm up along John’s thigh, wrapping his hand around John’s waist, as John’s hand pumps possessively at his cock. As good as it feels — and _fuck_ , it does feel good, steady, brisk friction, John’s always been so good at riling him up — he’s still only half hard.

Can’t say why. Must really be that tired, apparently.

“You all right?” John says, again, as his hand eases to a halt. Chas nods, more to himself than anything, but has nothing else to say.

John clearly takes this as a challenge — leans over him, brings their mouths together. A slow, thorough kiss, deeper than Chas expects: John sighing against his lips, running one hand through Chas's hair as he keeps stroking at Chas's cock with the other. Turns his head for a better angle. Moans into his mouth when Chas reaches up and wraps his hand around the back of his neck. Chas's cock swells, jerking in John’s grasp, leaking against John’s palm.

“There we are,” John says, under his breath as he pulls back. Sits up. “Mm,” he adds, smug, giving Chas another slow, loose stroke, and then: “All this for me?” Lower, coy and seductive. As if he needs to be, with his hand down Chas’s pants and a few twists of the wrist away from making him come.

Chas inhales, steadying himself. Reaches up again, cups John’s cheek in his hand. “Who else?"

John shuts his eyes and leans into Chas’s grip. Kisses the inside of Chas’s wrist and sighs, soft and content. Catches himself, and shakes his head, pulling out of Chas's grasp.

"Could do better than me, mate," he says, light and thoughtless, kneeling between Chas's thighs.

Chas sighs. “And yet here I am."

“Just my luck, really,” John says, before kissing him again.

It’s quick, wet, barely giving Chas a chance to reciprocate, then John is gone, making his way down Chas's chest. Pushes up Chas's shirt, just enough to nuzzle at Chas's stomach, trailing his lips along Chas’s skin.

Chas huffs — he’s not usually ticklish but the friction of John’s stubble against his skin makes him shiver when he’s like this, oversensitive and warm. He squirms a little, hips twitching, as he drops his hand to the top of John’s head and ruffles his hair.

John gives a quick, amused snort of his own, nuzzling at Chas again before dropping his head lower and taking Chas’s cock into his mouth.

John is good at this — John has always been good at this, has always loved making a show of it, all pleased hums and languorous licks and steady suction.

Chas’s knows he’s not special for it, knows John’ll do this for whoever he’s managed to talk into bed or an unlocked bathroom stall or the back of a touring van. It’s easy to forget, though, when John takes him all the way in, swallows around him eagerly and with practiced ease. When John manages to narrow Chas’s existence to just this: this bed, this moment, his cock down John’s throat and John’s arms wrapped around Chas’s thighs.

John’s throat is tight and wet and hot, and the urge to press his hand to the top of John’s head, to force him down, keep him in place, make sure he keeps swallowing like that, is strong, almost primal. John wouldn’t mind — John’d grin, proud of getting that much of a — rise — out of him, of provoking that kind of possessiveness or desperation.

Chas drops his hand to John’s shoulder instead. Arches his back, and tries to breathe — he wants to come, every inch of his body aches for it, the swift release and paralyzing, mindless warmth. But he can’t, somehow, not yet, even as he shudders and hears himself let out a low, needy sound.

John pulls off. Slow, almost regretful. Meets Chas’s eyes as he wraps his hand around Chas's cock again.

“Did you miss me?” he says, in that rough rasp he gets, throat raw and well-used.

Chas thrust up in to the tight ring of his fingers. “I don’t…don’t know what you…what you want me to say,” Chas pants, sincere and desperate — he can feel his heart thudding, can feel his cock leaking. The answer is _yes, of course, yes, I missed you, yes, I thought about you, I always think about you, I always wish you’d come with me, I’m always glad you don’t._

John makes a face — annoyed, but not necessarily at Chas — and shakes his head. Tightens his grip, quickens his strokes. “The truth’d be all right."

“ _Yes_ ,” Chas gasps. Almost sobs. Can’t help it anymore. Catches a glimpse of a smile on John’s face. Bastard. Not like it’s the first time John’s been cruel before, but never like this. He almost says so — just about manages it — but John ducks down again.

Swirls his tongue across the tip, tracing along the slit. Quick and playful, as he keeps his hand around the shaft. Chas almost stops breathing, and John smirks. Presses a kiss to the tip, and then parts his lips, letting them slide down. Sucks, long and and steady, around the head of Chas’s cock, and strokes his hand rapidly along the rest.

It’s too much, and it’s enough, and Chas comes, hips jolting and breath catching. John keeps stroking at him, working him through it, till Chas’s sagging back against the mattress — eyes closed, heart pounding, eyes screwed shut.

A moment passes — Chas isn’t sure how long it takes, but his heart steadies eventually, and he inhales, deep.

He hears John panting, feels John’s breaths blooming, wet and warm, against his hip. The prickle of stubble against his skin, as John nuzzles into him. The slight, rhythmic shift of John’s body — still between Chas’s legs, back pressed against the inside of Chas’s thigh — as he jerks himself off.

“Hey,” Chas says, gentle, as he reaches for John again. Runs his fingers through John’s hair, struck by such deep tenderness for him that he almost can’t breath.

John stills, mumbles a vague “What?” into Chas’s hip.

“Come back here."

John doesn’t need to be told twice — slides up along Chas’s body, and collapses, kissing him with desperate, messy fervor. Chas goes to stroke his cheek and finds it warm and sticky-wet.

“Did I—“ he starts, when John pulls back.

“Yeah,” John says, tilting his head to the side — there’s come on his chin too, and a white streak along his throat.

Chas feels himself blush. Opens his mouth to apologize, and John shakes his head, quick. “Don’t,” he says, as he starts rubbing up against Chas’s stomach in earnest. “Wanted you to.”

 _Okay, then,_ Chas thinks, and John kisses him again, and all he can think about is how to help him, how to get him off, how to keep him close.

Chas ducks his head, breaking the kiss — John whines and tries to follow, and Chas threads a hand through John’s hair and pulls him back.

John’s eyes widen, instantly intrigued, as his cock leaks against Chas’s shirt.

“Turn over,” Chas murmurs into the space between them, and John does, immediately, compliant and unquestioning. Flops down on Chas’s body, back to chest, head lolling over Chas’s shoulder. Chas slides his hand up John’s chest and under John’s shirt, all the way up, till he can wrap his palm around John’s neck. Drops his other hand to John’s cock.

“Ohh,” John says, turning his head, nuzzling at Chas’s cheek as Chas jerks him off. Quick, steady strokes. “Oh, that’s good, mate, that’s —“ he moans, reaching back, threading his fingers through Chas’s hair. “That’s — lovely."

 _You’re lovely_ , Chas would say if he could, that or some other awful, sentimental, dangerous words. He’d mean them, too.

He turns his head and grabs at John’s chin instead, pulls him into a sharp, awkward kiss. All tongues and teeth and shuddering breaths, as John comes apart in his hands, spilling into Chas’s palm.

Chas slows his strokes, or tries to — John grabs his wrist and encourages him to keep at it, the same brisk pace, even as John's cock twitches and softens, as he wrings John out and feels John writhe and shudder and whine into his mouth.

John lets go of his wrist.

Chas pulls his hand away, wipes it against the sheets — John groans, and rolls off of him.

Chas tries not to take it personally, tries not to feel quite so abandoned: John’s right there, just flipping off the light. And then they’re hip to hip, as John settles back, peeling his shirt off and squirming out of his boxers.

Chas should do the same, he knows. Groans as he reaches down, pushing down his pants and underwear, kicking them off. He’d be more careful, usually, but everything he’s wearing is covered in John — his scent, his sweat, his come — and he’ll need to wash it all tomorrow anyway.

John turns toward him. Reaches over, wordless, and pulls at the hem of Chas’s shirt. Chas lifts his arms, lets John pull it off of him, and toss it aside. Chas is about to speak — not sure what he’ll say, not sure what needs to be said — but John is kissing him again before he can. Softer, fonder, cradling Chas’s face.

Chas turns onto his side and gives in to the urge to pull him closer, and John comes willingly, settles easily into Chas’s arms, letting the kiss fade into shared breathes and nuzzled noses.

“Missed you too,” John says, after a moment — low and clear, as he wants to be sure Chas’s heard him.

Chas doesn’t know what to say to that. _Good i_ sn’t right — he doesn’t want that, doesn’t want John to pretend he _needs_ Chas, when they both know he doesn’t. _I’m glad_ , but he’s not, he wouldn’t be, he doesn’t want John pining for him, waiting for him. _Thank you_ , maybe, for the sentiment if nothing else — maybe he thinks that’s what Chas wants. Maybe it is what Chas wants. Maybe —

John snorts. “Didn’t miss that, though,” he says, tapping Chas’s forehead with the tip of his finger. Rolls over onto his back, apparently staring up at the ceiling. “The way you get,” he clarifies.

Chas blinks. “How do I get?"

“All…thoughtful, like. Trying to work it out, all the—“ Chas can practically hear the grimace. “You and me. Us. What it all means."

“One of us has to,” he says, more insistent than he should be, and winces. Knows that if _John_ thinks about it — this, them, the _what it all means_ of it — he’ll bolt. Maybe Chas should let him. Maybe they’d both be better off for it.

John hums — a soft, tacit acknowledgment — and turns his head. “What’s there to work out, love?” he says, flippant but soft. Presses a quick kiss to Chas cheek, before turning away again.

Chas doesn’t know how to respond to that — _everything_ , he wants to say. The last thing he needs is another uncertainty in his life. All he'd ever wanted was normalcy and stability and a home to come back to, and he’d had it. All of it, and happiness too, and then he’d lost it, given it up, almost without a thought, for whatever he and John have, whatever this life could be. Doesn’t think it’s entirely unreasonable to want to know, for sure, what that is. Especially now, when they’re both past pretending this is just sex. That it was ever just sex.

John sighs. “Doin' it again, mate."

Chas forces a laugh. _Fair enough,_ he thinks. Doesn’t need all the answers tonight. Can pretend, for just a little longer, that it’ll be all right if he never gets them.

He reaches over. Pats at John’s chest, and then decides to leave his hand there — heavy over John’s heart, feeling its rhythm skip and then settle, into a distant, familiar beat.

 _Sorry_ , he wants to say, but knows John probably won’t care. “I’ll fuck you tomorrow,” he offers instead.

John chuckles. “Promises, promises,” he drawls, and press his own palm to the center of Chas’s chest.

 

 

*

**Author's Note:**

> [title from here, etc](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IEwthwI538k).


End file.
